


All I Need is Six

by TheArtOfLazy



Category: Marlow/Moss, six the musical
Genre: Angst, Gen, It's about k.howards death, allusions to sexual assault/abuse, just the six being pals, nothing graphic but, they've been through a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 08:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18807133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtOfLazy/pseuds/TheArtOfLazy
Summary: Katherine Howard dies in front of thousands.Almost five hundred years pass, and still she remembers those months with a terrifying accuracy. She doesn’t remember the time in between her death and now. Doesn’t know if she was happy, or at peace, or terrified. Doesn’t even know where she was buried. But she can recall every moment of her life, maybe even better than before.There is a clarity in this after-death that seems more a curse than anything else.





	All I Need is Six

Katherine Howard dies in front of thousands. 

Almost five hundred years pass, and still she remembers those months with a terrifying accuracy. She doesn’t remember the time in between her death and now. Doesn’t know if she was happy, or at peace, or terrified. Doesn’t even know where she was buried. But she can recall every moment of her life, maybe even better than before. 

There is a clarity in this after-death that seems more a curse than anything else. 

She knows the others must feel it too, must remember it as clearly as she does. But no one talks about it, and she refuses to be the first to bring it up. She wasn’t the only one to die, and they already act as if she’s a barely more than a child. She won’t give them more reason to dislike her, to treat her differently. 

She tries not to flinch at the flash of metal, or cower in dark rooms. Sometimes she wakes up in tears, gasping and sobbing, and it’s as if she’s back in that cell. Sometimes her neck burns and her body aches, and she can barely stand to wear her necklace. Sometimes the others notice it. Sometimes they don’t. 

It hasn’t been very long since they’ve been together, and they’re still all just warming up to each other. She has to admit they’re growing on her faster than before, and she already feels a warmth bloom in her chest when she thinks of Jane’s kind eyes, Anne’s bright smile. If she’s being honest, that terrifies her a bit. She knows exactly where those kind of feelings- family, friendship, love- get people. Knows exactly where they lead. 

This time, she’ll be smarter. 

It works, for the most part. She puts on a show of being loud and bright and happy, and they’re satisfied enough to let it be. Sometimes she slips, leans into Jane’s hug and squeezes Anne’s hand a little too tightly, but she always finds her footing. Always steps back. 

Then it’s early February, and the queens are invited to stop by London Tower. 

The crew encourage the meeting- it will do loads for the show’s press, and get people talking, and so of course Katherine agrees to it. It doesn’t seem to bad, and everyone else already agreed to go. She walks beside Anne and Jane, and though the former looks slightly sickly, and the latter seems weighed down with an impossible weight, they hold themselves up with the grace of their status. 

The meeting is quick, and the tour brief. All of the queens seem on edge, and not even Anne makes quips. It passes by in a blur, and Katherine doesn’t remember much at all. The place is so different, so new, and yet so familiar. She remembers walking these halls, remembers living here, remembers the courtyard and the throne room and the tower. Oh, she remembers the tower. 

Jane wraps an arm around Katherine as they leave, pulls her in tight. “Are you alright, love?” She asks, her voice warm and kind. 

Katherine nods, but can’t quite manage a smile. She feels so small here. So incredibly young. Jane softens, and Katherine can’t stop herself from leaning into her embrace. She doesn’t let go until they reach home. 

Their visit to the castle ruins everyone’s day. There’s no talking, no arguing, no sounds. They stay in their rooms, and they distract themselves as best they can, hoping the fog will pass eventually, that they’ll all be fine in the morning. Katherine puts on headphones, listens to music so loud it reverberates through her skull, until all she can think of are the pounding bass notes. And then she falls asleep. 

She falls asleep, and dreams. 

____

The day before her execution, she practices her death. 

Her body is weak with exhaustion and terror, but now she is numb. There are no more tears left inside her, no more sorrow to spare. Everything has been stripped away, and she’s nothing more than a shadow, an empty husk. She has one day of rest before she is killed, and so she practices. Her jailer brings the execution block to her room, so she can choose the best position. 

She stares at it for a lifetime before she can even touch it. It’s dark and stained, and everything is so incredibly real. Her heart stutters, cracks open. This is it. 

She rests her head on the block, tries to look calm and elegant, tries to strangle the terror pulsing through her veins. She imagines the axe rising above her, glinting in the sun. Imagines the winter’s breeze against her face. The crowds waiting beyond the tower, to celebrate her death. The heavy thud as the axe bites into her neck. How many blows would it take? How long would she lay on this block, bleeding and screaming, before her head rolled onto the ground? 

Is this what Anne felt? 

The thoughts sink into her bones. She pulls herself away from the block., dry heaves until her stomach aches. Her cheeks burn with shame, and when she looks up her ladies don’t meet her eyes.  
They take the block away eventually, and she spends the rest of the night staring blankly at the walls. There is nothing left for her to say, nothing left for her to do. She’s a ghost in her own body. The feeling is eerily familiar. 

She does not pray. 

The sun rises too soon, and Katherine is shaken into focus by guards at the door. She follows them out without fuss. They bring her through the castle grounds, march her to the Tower. There are thousands of people crowded around to see her death, to see the execution of the royal whore. They will have brought their children to watch the show. 

Maybe she deserves it, after all. 

There are no decorations, nothing to signify the death of a queen. Nothing but a bare wooden scaffold, and the wooden block. The guards guide her up the stairs. She had thought there would be peace, now. Peace, acceptance, love. There’s only brutal, ugly fear. Her bones are hollow with it, her heart pounds with it. 

As she faces the crowd, she’s reminded of her marriage. They had come then, too, and she had been no less scared. She wasn’t prepared to be queen, to marry Henry, to live in the court. She had been thrown to the wolves then, and she has been thrown to them now. They had whispered behind her back, had laughed as she tried to learn. No one had helped her. No one had heard her. 

She had learned to be queen well enough on her own. She could learn to die as one too. 

So she holds her head high, as the crowd looks on. She looks at the sky- can’t bring herself to look down at the block, or into their eyes. She grants the executioner forgiveness- it’s hardly his fault she’s here, and she doesn’t want to die a slow death- and addresses the crowd. 

She already knows what she has to say. She will die, but her family might live, and her words will hang over their heads. So she praises the king. Acid rises in her stomach, her throat burns, but she praises him for his kindness, his generosity. His goodness. 

She does not mention his anger. His hunger. Her pain. 

She stands in front of them, in front of the block, and tells them she’s guilty. Deserving of death. Begs them to learn from her mistakes. 

She does not tell them she had no choice. Does not say she was a child. Does not say they took what was never offered. 

She can only hope that Henry is pleased with her performance, does not take it out on her own cousins and siblings. Anne had done it for her. 

Call it family tradition. 

She strips off her gown, and her knees almost buckle as she kneels down on the block in only her petticoat and chemise. The straw underneath her is stiff and scratches her legs. 

She is terrified. 

The man stands beside her, waiting for the signal. 

Maybe if she keeps her hands at her side, nothing will happen. They’ll all get bored and leave, and Henry will forgive her, and- and…

No. 

There was nothing to save her, today. Nothing to save her, ever. She was alone with Mannox, with Dereham, with Henry and Thomas. 

And now, she is alone with thousands. 

She had let them have her, hadn’t she? That’s what everyone said, after all. If she hadn’t wanted it- if she hadn’t truly wanted it- it wouldn’t have been able to happen. Otherwise, none of this would be happening. 

She must have done something wrong. 

There was only one option. 

She’s trembling like a leaf, and she feels so small on this massive platform, in front of so many people. But this is what Henry wants, what the people want. This is what everyone wants. Because they always want something. 

She thrusts her arms out in front of her, gives the signal for the executioner. She’s crying, now. Hadn’t even realized the tears pouring down her face. She thought there was nothing left to give, thought they’d taken all her tears, all her pain, all her feelings. But there’s always more to give.

She keeps her eyes open, trained on the crowd. She hopes they see her face, hopes they understand what they’re doing. Hopes and hopes and hopes. 

And then it falls. Time stretches out, and all she can do is wait for it to hit her. Hope it kills her quickly.

She feels the axe cut into her neck, slice through muscle and bone. Can feel her neck snapping, her body giving out. Fire burns through her body, and for one all consuming moment she’s blinded by a pain that rips her very head from her shoulders.

And then, Katherine Howard is dead. 

_________

She wakes up screaming. Her neck burns and her body aches and it still feels like the axe is embedded in her body. She manages to grab a pillow and muffles her desperate sobs as best she can, her chest heaving with the effort. 

For months she had managed to hide the pain and memories, to control them, to shove them down and ignore them. But she could never escape them, not fully. Not before her death, and certainly not after. 

She doesn’t know how long she sits on her bed like this, doubled over and wracked with body-shaking sobs. She’s so consumed in the pain that she doesn’t notice the quiet knocking at her door, or the muffled questions. 

It doesn’t matter, because soon enough the door is opening anyways, and Jane is rushing towards her. Jane kneels in front of her, eyes wide with concern. 

“Katherine, love- what’s wrong?” she tries. Katherine can’t answer between sobs, but she remembers Jane’s hugs, her steadfast kindness, her warmth. Katherine feels as if she’s been alone her whole life. She isn’t strong enough to do it now. 

So she reaches towards Jane, and it only takes a moment before Jane reaches up and hugs her tight. 

“I- it.. ‘urts.” Katherine manages. Jane pulls back, searching for an injury, terrified she’s done something, but Katherine only gestures towards her neck. Understanding tears at Jane’s heart, and she nods, before pulling the younger girl back into a hug. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. Katherine clings to her, burying her head in Jane’s neck, until her sobbing fades to tired hiccups and tears. 

Jane gently traces patterns on the nape of the girls neck, trying her best to ease the invisible pains of the past. Behind her she hears a soft knock on the door. 

Turning, Jane sees Anne standing at the doorway, tired eyes open wide. She’s got a small bear in one hand, and blanket in the other. Katherine doesn’t move from her spot. 

Jane offers Anne a small smile, and the girl takes it as her invitation, awkwardly coming to stand beside the bed. 

“I, uh- I couldn’t sleep. And since you guys are up, I figured I’d stop by?” she says, more a question than anything. “I- I brought this little guy, Katherine. He’s great for hugs, and stuff.” 

Anne thrusts the bear towards Katherine. It’s bright pink and glittery, and has the softest fur she’s ever seen. Katherine looks up cautiously, and takes the bear with hesitant hands.

“Thank… thank you,” she whispers, voice hoarse. 

“You wouldn’t mind if I stuck around, would you?” Anne asks. Katherine doesn’t answer, just shakes her head slightly. Jane looks up at her and smiles. 

“Of course not, love.”

Anne snuggles in beside her and Jane, wraps and arm around her cousin and the blanket around all three. Katherine just burrows in deeper. Her panic is dimming, but it’s still all too visceral. 

They fall into an easy rhythm, Jane tracing patterns on Katherine’s neck, Anne humming soft lullabies she’d learned in France, Katherine’s stilted breathing. 

The next to join them is Parr, armed with a book and soft eyes. She offers no explanation, only comments that she’d wondered if they’d mind if she’d keep them company. Reading alone was dreadfully boring, after all. 

No one complains, and she settles down beside Jane. Soon enough, she’s offering to read the book aloud, and Katherine jumps at the opportunity. So Parr starts at the beginning, and soon all three queens listen in rapt attention to Parr’s soft voice. It’s like none of the books Jane’s ever seen Parr reading before- a storybook about family and love and adventure. 

Parr’s on the third chapter when Cleves and Aragon appear. Cleves is carrying an armful of snacks, and Aragon has so many pillows and blankets piled on her that not even her face is visible. 

“We got lonely,” is the only explanation they offer. They arrange the pillows and blankets as best they can, until Katherine’s bed looks like some sort of nest. 

Aragon looks at it for a second, and shakes her head. “There’s no way we can all fit.” 

“Not with that attitude,” Cleves grins. “Would you rather sleep on the floor?”

And with that, all six women find their way onto the bed. It’s a tight squeeze, with legs hanging off of edges, and bodies curled up together, but it works. Cleves passes around the snacks, Jane keeps holding Katherine, and Parr keeps reading. 

They make it through three-quarters of the book before Parr notices Katherine is snoring softly in Jane’s arms, and Anne has totally passed out. She closes the book, and soon no one is left awake. 

None of them get much sleep, but they wake up feeling lighter than they have in.. well, in quite a long time. 

Katherine wakes up, and for the first time she can remember, she isn’t alone. It’s a little terrifying, a little embarrassing, a little strange. But it’s good, good in a way she can’t quite describe. 

There are things they’ll need to talk about, things Jane and Parr are already planning on looking into. Traumas they have to address. But that will be for another time. For now, Jane cooks breakfast for all the queens, and Aragon braids Katherines hair. For now, Cleves and Anne swap jokes at the foot of the couch. For now, they let themselves forget.  
They let themselves enjoy this second chance. 

It isn’t perfect, and it isn’t finished. But it’s... it’s something.


End file.
